Pillars of Sand
by Cersanthamum
Summary: When Clary options out to become a new assistant at the famous Herondale Magazine, she looked forward to starting off her life on a good note. What she didn't forsee was a cheeky golden guy standing in her way.
1. Chapter 1

**I hope you enjoy it! (No copyright intended, all characters belong to Cassandra Clare)**

**PILLARS OF SAND, CHAPTER ONE**

_'To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable  
of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools. The way  
to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!'  
-Shakespeare (Macbeth)_

* * *

"Are you sure you're ready for this Fairchild?" Simon smirked lopsidedly, and held out Clary's dark sea foam green tote bag in front of her. She took it hesitantly from his loose grasp and slung the thin strap over her thin left shoulder. Clary gulped down the staggering amount of anticipation that deemed to bubble in the pit of her stomach—threatening to bring up her late morning breakfast.

"As ready as I'll probably ever be." Clary lied and gave Simon a weak disheartening smile; no matter how much she wanted to be excited about her new assistant position at Herondale Magazine, she just couldn't seem to expel the thoughts and image flashes of her imminent failure, from her mind. She turned her head to the side to face the vintage golden mirror, which was hung up just shy of their apartment door. Her hair fell softy around her face, down her chest; waves and curls of fiery crimson stopping just shy of the top of her rib cage. Her skin was silken ivory—pale—but splattered with freckles. She was wearing a silky vibrant green blouse pressed perfectly underneath an ashy grey blazer, finished with dark black jeans and nude pumps. Yes, to anyone else she would appear cool, calm, collected and otherwise professional—but it was her deep emerald eyes that gave away her rather timorous attitude.

"Clary, you're going to be fine—you're going to _do _even better." Simon offered an encouraging smile and came to stand beside her, snaking his arm across her shoulders, hugging her tightly to his body. His glasses were mere seconds from falling off of the bridge of his nose—his outfit what typical Simon would usually wear: faded dark blue jeans, a graphic t-shirt, and mud caked white vans.

"Whatever you say, Lewis. I just... I've wanted this ever since—"

"—Ever since 8th grade when you picked up the magazine randomly from that little corner shop on fifth and browning. I know these things Clary. No need to remind me." He shook his head, dark brown hair swept across his forehead as he did so. "Now go. We don't want you to be late, do we?" Simon tilted his head to the door beside her. Clary sighed, and stared down the door for a moment, before reluctantly shrugging out of his grasp.

"Wish me luck!" Clary said and opened the waxy red front door haistly—slipping out of the apartment into the warm noon air. She made her way down the narrow grey stone flights of stairs on the outside of their apartment building, and out onto the streets which were littered and clustered by fast paced people; talking on cell phones, sipping steaming coffee, and smoking. Dark and rather thick puffs of pungent smoke wafted in the air all around her; stinging her eyes for a brief moment. She walked along the slate chipped sidewalk, passing the all to familiar Bazaar Café on her way to the underground subway station.

It was just as cluttered with people, pushed up against one another, as it had been out in the open of the streets up above. She hopped on to the metro that would take her directly to a small ped-way which would lead up and onto the street adjacent to her current destination. Her life changing destination that is. As the metro came to a stop and Clary rushed through the sea of people all around her, her heart pace picked up tenfold, puttering unevenly against her delicate rib bones; screaming with anxiety. The large corporate office of Herondale Magazine loomed in front of her as she burst out into the street. It was all hard angles and sharp lines; made of dark steel and harsh copper; the windows reflected even the faintest light.

She gulped loudly, and out of nervous habit, fiddled with the hem of her silk green top; while she hiked her bag higher upon her shoulder. "You can do this Fairchild. You can do this." Clary began to mutter as she crossed the busy New York street, which was littered with hundreds of fluorescent yellow cabs. The Herondale building seemed to get bigger and bigger the closer she got, quite literally scaring the shit out of her—for this was her first major job—but really how bad could it be?

She walked through the towering front all glass doors, with a rush of others who were dressed immaculately in sharp pin-stripe suits with shiny leather loafers. Many of the women had their hair pinned up in structured buns, pulled back by an abundance of pins, their clothes made of grey, dark grey, and light grey material as opposed to her vibrant green silk top—making Clary feel less than ordinary in regards to her situation. The inside of the building matched its exterior: Hard, sharp, daunting—giving off the initial perception that this was a place where you came to work hard, well and fast. She let her deep emerald eyes trail around the large foyer with its vaulted ceiling, pristine gold and black marbled floors, tall vibrant pots of scattered plants, and the long mahogany front desk situated directly in the middle of the chaos of business people.

Clary headed off in the direction of the front desk, passing a group of stick thin models with gaunt cheeks and flawless posture. A hand pressed somewhat greedily against her butt suddenly, pulling her from her objective phase of mind. She sharply turned around, her mind dripping with accusatory remarks, and to her surprise her gaze was met by the ample chest of a man—a man that practically slammed into her as she stopped. Clary stumbled backwards on her heels slightly, a gasp escaping her lips, but before she had the unfortunate chance of landing on the marble floor the man reached his hand out and clasped her tightly around her thin waist.

"That would have been a pretty nasty fall there." His voice was as smooth as creamy liquid, deep—but not close enough to reach a baritone tone—and yet at the same time, surprisingly intriguing. Once Clary was steadied, she glanced up and sucked in a harsh breath; her eyes widening. The man—whoever he was—had immaculate golden amber eyes, with specks of pale yellow around the pupil in light waves. His nose was perfectly arched; his eyebrows raised in a teasing sort of gesture; his lips thin, pink and soft looking—in Clary's initial opinion. He had an equally as golden, halo of curled hair around his head, cut perfectly just below his ears. And his skin was tan and smooth as milk and honey.

He was dressed in a structured light grey suit cuffed at the wrists with dark black links, paired with an off-white button up, underneath, and a deep red tie on to complete the outfit. "Miss, are you okay?" Clary snapped back to reality and begraded herself for starring at him so long. She had realized then that he had been talking to her for quite some time, while she mindlessly took her fill of his appearance.

"Yes," she shimmed out of his grasp around her waist, and smoothed down the front of her shirt. "You grabbed my butt." Clary pointed out accusingly, hating the fact that after she did so he got a stupid half smirk on his pretty face.

"It was inevitable sorry to tell you. With all these people swarming around us, pushing us together—" He gestured widely with his arms out stretched, pushing his ample chest forward slightly. He was tall, _really _tall, Clary realized, and quickly shook her head before she could lose herself in the image of this man once again.

"Typical. Trying to make up excuses for groping women, hey?" Clary folded her arms over her chest, and quirked her left eyebrow high on her forehead. To Clary's anger, the man copied her same eyebrow gesture with an equally as great quirk.

"In all honestly, miss, you didn't have much _to _grope." He shrugged his broad shoulders nonchalantly.

"So you _were _trying to grope me... And wait, did you just call my butt small?" Clary let her mouth fall partially open at the implication. Yes, she didn't have the biggest assets, or more readily she didn't have any at all—just a subtle curve and dip to her hip bone—and most certainly she didn't enjoy it when people pointed out that fact to her. The man smiled brightly and laughed heartily, shaking his head.

"How about we let this go, and you thank me for saving you from that nasty fall?" He stepped closer to her, starring down at her with his blazing golden eyes. "Because, I do believe thanks are in order."

"Not for someone who calls my butt small." Clary huffed and met his gaze from under her eyelashes, an impassive look passing over her freckled face.

"Do you not get over things easily, Copper?" He asked indignantly.

"_Copper? _Is that some sort of nickname?" She knit her eyebrows tightly together, looking at him with both immense questioning and amusement.

"Yes, since you've yet to induce me with your lovely name, Copper." He winked. Of all things, his wink deemed to be the most characteristically disastrous quirk; that is, if he were in the presence of any other girl.

"You don't need to know my name," Clary shrugged her shoulders up and returned her gaze to the long mahogany front desk, past her shoulder. "Look, I would say it was nice meeting you, but I mean... I don't particularly like being groped by random strangers that I plan on never seeing again. So, if you don't mind, I've got somewhere to be." She turned on the balls of her pumps and without a sure-fired glance back, she let the man slip away behind her, not listening to anything else he had to say. She let her feet guide her through the muddle of people over to the front desk, where a woman with brown hair and a deep indigo pant suit sat on a high black chair. There was a small sleek silver computer off to the right side—from Clary's perspective—which the woman seemed to be busy with. On the left side of the dark top, there was an authentic green Burbery lamp, turned off of course, with a small gold chain loped at the end with silver wire, hanging underneath. Clary was always a sucker for the smallest of details, and this one didn't seem to evade her minds eye.

"Hello misses—" Clary, turned and regarded the gold platted name tag on top of the cover of the front desk. "—Aline Penhallow." She gazed back up at the woman with greying wheat brown hair and gave her a lapsed smile.

"Oh, my name is actually Amatis Graymark. But today I am filling in for Ms. Penhallow." She returned the smile passively. It dropped from her face seconds later, as she looked Clary up then down, then up again.

"Can you help me with where I'm supposed to go? I'm supposed to meet uhh... Jack—? Herondale for my new position as his assistant—"

"_Jace _Herondale. Not Jack. Remember that." Amatis cut her off curtly and began to type loudly on the keyboard in front of her. Clary leaned forward on her elbows scanning the computer screen absent-minded and Amatis gave her an exasperated glance before she reached out and turned the screen away from Clary's lingering eyes, more so. Clary straightened up then, attempting to fain a more than professional appearance. She couldn't help the fact that she had an affinity for wanting to know everything in some sense. "Yes, you're Clarissa Fairchild?" Clary nodded. "So, if you take the _F _elevator on the left up to floor eighty-five, you will be opened up to Mr. Herondale's office. Got it?"

"F elevator eighty-fifth floor—is that the top floor?"

"Yes it is. Now I would get going if I were you. Mr. Herondale doesn't particularly like to be kept waiting." And with that and a simple nod, Clary turned once again on her heel—by the end of the day she was bound to have a headache by the constant motion—and fluttered over to the long wide hallway which housed the numerous amount of elevators. She stepped into elevator F, luckily it seemed to be completely vacant. As Clary went to press the button for the metallic doors to close, a blur of shiny glitter bounded their way—somehow gracefully—into the elevator, the doors closing firmly together behind the person. He pressed one of the glowing buttons on the right side of the elevator—floor numbers—leaning towards Clary. Clary made sure to press her floor number as well.

Clary starred up at the equally as tall man, as the one before in the lobby, who had the complexion of a god. His skin tawny; a rich mocha hue; his hair thick, black and twinged with strips of blue glitter; his eyes ripe green with flecks of gold, encased inside a thick line of black eyeliner on the upper lid and gold glitter on the bottom. His outfit matched perfectly with his look: black leather pants which looked as if they were painted on, a slinky light blue shirt underneath a dark brown bomber jacket with silver studs at the ends of the arms, finished with a few dark silver necklaces. Everything about him screamed fashion and well... Flamboyance.

He cut his eyes sideways at her and briefly smiled to himself. "Bonjour, mon cheré." He grabbed a hold of her hand—much to her slight protest—and raised it to his lush mouth and kissed the pale freckled skin of her hand tenderly. "Comment t'appelle tu?"

"Oh..." Clary blushed despite herself. "I don't speak french—"

"Not even a little?" He raised his thick right eyebrow high; his lips pulling up at the corners to reveal straight white teeth, while he dropped her hand.

"I understood the 'Bonjour', if that counts for anything?" Clary bit her lip smiling as she tilted her head up at him.

"Unfortunate. Someone _must_ teach you the language of love."

"Are you offering?" Clary teased, laughing briefly to herself. She wasn't being serious in the least, but nevertheless her comment seemed to spark a subtle interest in the man. "I was kidding, by the way." She shot down, before he could interject his reply.

"Whatever suits your pretty little fiery head. What's your name?"

"Clary. Clary Fairchild." She replied lazily as she began to watch the bright colors along the numbered floors light up as they went by. "I'm new here."

"Yes, I was about to say I haven't seen you around these lovely halls before. Well, I'm Magnus Bane. It's nice to meet you."

"_Thee Magnus Bane? _As in, The Magnus Bane who was the fashion coordinator for the fall New York fashion week? Outfit designer to the stars?" Clary's mouth fell slack open, as she gazed upon the man in disbelief.

"The one and only, darling." He spun around in the small space, lifting his arms up as he did so. He smelt of Sandalwood and baby powder; intoxicating.

"You know my mother right?" Clary enquired, looting through her bag to find a pen. Sure, Herondale Magazine _was _her life in some ways; the thing she went to for advice—no matter how cheesy that sounded—the thing she went to for the latest trending fashion, hair and makeup. But she didn't know the people behind the inner workings. Jace Herondale could have been an old grumpy man who had no time for meek girls like Clary, for all she knew. She wanted to be prepared for whatever it was the Mr. Herondale would throw her way. She watched the tiny numbered buttons light up, ascending upwards to her destination, as she became increasingly nervous. Now, if she could only find that pen...

"Jocelyn Fairchild is it?" Magnus looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, raising his thin fingers underneath his chin. "Does she not go by the pen name Jocelyn Fray at her art galleries?"

"Yes, Jocelyn Fray—Jocelyn Fairchild. Same person." Clary shrugged her thin shoulders up.

"Ah, I should have recognized that shock of red hair. My fiance and I love to go to her galleries in the spring—" Magnus paused and gazed up at the white roof of the elevator briefly before returning his wondrous eyes to Clary. "—Well, at least _I _like to go to them. I can't say much for my fiance."

"I'm an artist like my mom, but I don't usually go to her showings." Clary added. "You're engaged though? I didn't think that The Magnus Bane stuck to exclusive relationships. Who is she?" Clary teased, or at least she hoped she sounded teasing rather than scornful.

"Darling, that was the past. And _he—_Alexander is my future. I can't pass that up now can I?" Magnus smirked at the same time that the elevator door opened up, another tall looming figuring sauntered in. Immediately, Magnus' face lit with a sort of glow as a large smile encompassed his face. He reached out for the man that had just walked into the small space and snaked his arm around his waist pulling him close to his body, much to the other mans protest. "Clary, this is said future. Alexander Lightwood." Clary gazed at him more acutely; his hair was dishevelled around his head, and blacker than street tar on a hot summer day; his eyes were a luminous deep blue color; his skin pale and blemish free; he was clad in a loose fitting black shirt and equally as dark jeans which were frayed and torn at the hem of the legs. Opposite, _very _opposite from how Magnus appeared.

"Hi," she offered her hand, in which Alexander took it kindly.

"Call me Alec. I really do hate it when people call me Alexander..." Her looked at Magnus pointedly.

"Need I remind you that I had you begging me last night to whisper Alexander in your ear while I was—"

"—_And_ that's too much information already." Alec scowled, cutting Magnus off, and lightly nudged Magnus away from his body. "Sorry Clary. This one," he stuck his thumb out to the side, indicating to Magnus, "doesn't know how to keep a filter on the things he says."

"Sex dear doesn't need to be filtered. I'm sure Clary here doesn't mind?" Magnus turned his head to regard her, winking as he did so. Clary only nodded her head, although in her opinion it was a bit uncomfortable to talk discuss. "See? Now come on, our stop is next and I'm expecting a rather... Exciting wake up."

"Magnus it's the afternoon." Alec sighed, dropping his head between his shoulders slightly.

"So? I would still like to see your head between—"

"OKAY." Alec cut in again, planting his hand across Magnus' mouth. Alec gazed at Magnus pointedly; his eyes a piercing deep blue and shook his head; nevertheless there was still a small smile tugging at his lips. "That's enough Magnus." There was a small 'ding' that sounded around the small space of the elevator and the doors opened on the sixty-third floor. "This is us," Alec regarded Clary with a subtle wave.

"Good luck with whatever it was you had to do!" Magnus called back to her as they escaped out into the white hallway ahead; Alec pulling feverishly on Magnus' wrist in a dominating way—but somehow in Clary's perspective very tenderly. Once the doors closed, Clary sighed. Now she was left alone with her own thoughts to muddle over while the elevator continued to climb higher and higher towards her destination of Mr. Herondale's office. She had wished it was him who she had the grace of speaking with over the phone; so that she could place the voice to a faint image in her mind as to who to expect. But she had spoken to a woman, a rather rude woman at that, who seemed disheartened that Clary had even got the position as the new assistant.

It was all part of a plan for Clary; being an art major with a background in structural design as well as artistic design—this assistant position was only the first stage. If she worked her way up within the company, one day, one day soon hopefully, she could be one of the professional editors in the layout and overall design of the magazine and the photo shoots. 'You have to start at the bottom in order to work your way up'. Her mother used to tell her, no matter how stupendously simple that deemed to sound, Clary was still having a hard time grappling it; cementing it in her mind. Because really, she wanted it all now, wanted the position and or job she had always dreamt of. She wasn't one who liked to wait for an opportunity to come; she liked being fully aware and in control of her life.

But at the present moment, Jace Herondale decided her future—something Clary wasn't all that stable and confident with.

After a few nerve wracking moments the elevator finally reached the top floor and opened up into a wide set room. Everything was white and crisp. Perfect lines encased the room, from the many bookshelves that lined the far left side of the room, to the make shift bar and console area with a primped couch seated directly in front—a television looming overhead on the wall—which was all stationed at the exact back right wall of the large open room. There were floor to ceiling windows on the far back wall, that looked out to some of the other downtown buildings and the sea harbour just a ways away. There was a small white lacquer desk positioned beside the bookcases—Clary's new desk she assumed—and everything on top of it was in, an almost freighting, perfect order.

Whoever this Jace Herondale person was, definitely liked to keep things clean and structured. In the middle of the room was really the only pop of color—excluding the many books which lined the white book cases—a large rounded glossy cherry red desk with black stationery strewn on the top. Behind the desk was a tall black chair turned to face the windows at the present moment. Otherwise, the room was empty, and Jace Herondale was late—or possibly she had gotten her times mixed up and _she _was the one that was late. Clary stepped forward into the room, cringing at the loud clicking sound of her high heels smacking against the sleek white floor.

"Clarissa Fairchild, I'm Jace Herondale," a voice sounded from the chair. A voice Clary faintly recognized but somehow couldn't quite put her finger on. She made to reply to him, but then the chair began to turn and possibly the one person she wasn't expecting to see, the one person she doubtfully hoped to never meet again, was sitting in the confines of the seat. "You—"

"—You." They both said the the same time, Clary a bit exasperated and Jace stunned. He cleared his throat loudly, placing his left fist against his mouth while his other hand held a beige manila tag folder—her records—and then placed it on top of the cherry red surface of his desk. Clary stood there wide eyed, gazing upon the man that had irked her a mere twenty-five minutes ago. He was definitely not what she was expecting Mr. Herondale to be. She would have put her money on him being some stuffy old man; not this young, breathtaking, slightly infuriating guy, with perfectly pressed clothes and a halo of gold surrounding his head.

"Uhm, we didn't really get off to a good start this afternoon, I'm guessing, did we?" He enquired with a small half smirk. Yes, indeed he was infuriating. That smirk indicated it all.

"Look, I'm going to be mature about this. You grabbed my butt, I reacted in a way that any woman would, and we will leave it at that." Clary stated as she walked over to the desk she presumed was hers, her pumps clicking loudly on the floor, setting her sea foam green tote bag on top. Jace got up from his desk chair and walked over to her, his height still as towering and looming as it had been before.

"On the contrare, Copper. I did not grope you. Merely my hand was out, your," he gazed at her side long, his eyes skimming down the back of her legs and up, "asset was there, and the people around us sort of forced the two counter parts together. Now, I call that fate, do you not Ms. Fairchild?" He teased, snaking his arms across his chest casually.

"No, I do not call that fate! Let's just drop it okay?"

"Oh? Now you want to drop it? After I suggested that downstairs?" He quirked his right eyebrow high on his golden forehead dauntingly.

"You expected me to thank you for a fall that wouldn't have been caused unless you kept your hands to yourself." Clary suggested with a blank face. Jace shook his head and raised his left hand to the bridge of his nose; pinching it together between his long fingers.

"I'm going to have a tough time with you aren't I?" Jace let out a deep sigh, letting his eyes fall shut as he continued to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"No—I don't plan on getting fired. Just tell me what to do. And I'll do it."

* * *

**A/N: Hi! I'm Amber! This will be my second long fanfiction that I am writing. My other one is called Castles Made of Sand (A Malec fic), which is still going on. I got very side-tracked by this idea, and I just needed to type it out before I forgot it. Review and tell me what you think of it! I'm up for constructive criticism (: This fic won't have a familiar updating schedule, as I need to pay more attention to Castles Made of Sand—but I will try to manage both in a good way. I guess this story will follow the life of Clary and the inner workings of her new job, as well as her friends, love interest(s), and will also deal with some hardships. I don't exactly know where I am going to end up with this story, but I hope you stick along for the ride! (As noted at the top, that quote is from Macbeth, by Shakespeare. It may not have complete significance to the chapter really, but I just like to add in my favorite drabbles from plays, songs, works of fiction etc.) Also, all The Mortal Instruments characters will make it in there somehow... (Maybe not Luke, I always have a really hard time writing about him, I have no idea why).**

**Review?**

**Amber,**


	2. Chapter 2

**I hope you enjoy it! (No copyright intended, all characters belong to Cassandra Clare)**

**PILLARS OF SAND, CHAPTER TWO**

_'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief,  
it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope,  
it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us,  
we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going  
direct the other way' -A Tale of Two Cities_

* * *

Clary sat there feebly staring at Jace from a little ways away. She was stationed behind her new crisp white desk, which was now perfectly personalized after the countless minutes she had sat in utter silence. She had placed a picture frame embroidered in gold on her desk, containing an image of her mother, Jocelyn, and herself; as well she set aside a small Star Wars action figure that Simon gave her for her fifteenth birthday. Jace was persistently avoiding her gaze—busying himself with the stacks of paper lined up in random disorderly places along his desk. Looking around, Clary didn't understand how Jace could stand the top of his desk at the moment; seeing as everything else in his office was immaculately positioned to perfection—clean, not a speck of dirt in sight. He must have some type of over compulsive disorder because not even a wayward girl would have her space this perfect.

She began to drum her fingers on the top of her desk creating the only sound in the room, besides the constant ticking of an old fashioned clock positioned just above the elevator doors. Clary scrunched up her features in annoyance for she had nothing to do and that was surely to get her nowhere, in respect to the fact that she wanted to work her way up in this company. "Mr. Herondale?" Her voice sounded much more sheepish than she deemed it to be; she couldn't exactly place why she felt so nervous around him. He tilted his head to regard her; short golden blonde curls swept across his forehead as he did so.

"Jace," he said and it took Clary a brief moment to understand that, that was a request on his behalf.

"_Jace,_" Clary drawled out, fighting back the nag to roll her emerald eyes. "I've sat here for more than half an hour without anything to do. Surely you could give me _something_,"

"You're an impatient little thing, aren't you?" Jace cocked his left eyebrow high as a sly smirk crept its way across his lips. He sat back in his large black chair and folded his hands just below his ribcage.

"Well I am your assistant. Don't you want me to go get you lunch or something? Fax some reports? Run to the printer to pick up some copies? Call the wife and say you'll be home late?" Clary threw out suggestions in a rush.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I would love that." He nodded his head, and then swung back around in his seat to face the stacks of paperwork on his desk once again—slowly riffling through them. He was sorting certain papers into different piles on top of his desk; what those piles meant, Clary had no idea. But she really wish she did. She came here to do a job and she wanted to do it well—but unfortunately Jace wasn't giving her the chance.

"Uhm, well, which one?" She asked hesitantly, but he gave no heady reply; causing Clary to finally roll her eyes. "_All _of those? You want me to do all?" She asked, rather incredulously. In response Jace just shook his head, smiled brightly and laughed.

"First things first." Jace once again stopped what he was doing, having felt accomplished with what he had done thus far. He turned in his chair to face Clary, and then in a rush of movements slid his chair against the lacquer flooring, coming to a stop right in front of her desk. Up close Clary could strangely define every dark curl of his eyelashes that framed his bright golden irises; she could also map out the scattered trail of light brown beauty marks which crossed vertically up his neck to the top of his left eyebrow. Clary found this strange, because she really never paid much heed to mapping out the planes of another mans face so readily. She _was_ one to pay great attention to detail, but that never entailed men who she wasn't interested in at all. "Let me get to know who you are, more." He leaned forward onto his elbows.

"Is that entirely necessary Mr. Herondale?" Clary asked, and when she saw that he made to correct her once again, she instantly interjected, "_Jace,_" instead. His lips twitched up into a ghost of a smile for a brief fleeting second.

"It is completely a necessity to know who will be waiting on me, hand and foot."

"Can't you just look at my file?"

"Yes, but that is very impersonal. Tell me what you like to do." Jace placed his sculpted chin within his hands—which were clasped together in front of him.

"I like to do my job,"

"There's no getting through that thick head of curls, is there Copper?" Jace leaned back in his chair, making it squeak on its wheels slightly. "Just tell me. Do you have an affinity for... Surfing? Singing? Dancing?—"

"Drawing. I guess you could consider me an artist. It's in my blood at least." Clary shrugged her shoulders up.

"Yes, the daughter of Jocelyn Fairchild. I suppose I could have guessed that one on my own," he smirked. That disastrous smirk did wonders on Clary's nerves; and she hadn't quite decided yet if she liked it or not. "How is Johnathan?"

"My brother?" Clary quirked her head to the side and stared into his eyes—emerald meeting gold—in questioning.

"That is his name isn't it?" Jace chuckled and ran his long fingers through his curly blonde hair. "I went to school with him,"

"That would make you twenty-five?" Clary sat back in her white desk chair and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "And married?" Jace laughed again a bit longer this time. His laugh was perfectly infectuous—loud, animated, and significant in the fact that it just _fit _him. Even if she didn't really know him at all...

"I'm not married—" Jace stated with a minor amount of conviction.

"But it's in the cards?" Clary's voice dropped against her own accord; as her mood became quite disheartened. But really it didn't matter whether or not her boss was in a relationship, at all. It _shouldn't _matter to her, whatsoever.

"As a matter of fact it is. I should introduce her to you sometime soon. Remind me one of these days." He nodded, and then wheeled himself back over to his large desk. "But anyways, how is Johnathan?"

"He's fine. Still an absolute asshole, but otherwise fine." Clary smiled when she saw Jace attempting to feign the smirk on his face. Her brother Johnathan lived upstate, at least an hour out of the city, in which Clary saw this as a blessing. Growing up with Johnathan had never been a luxury for Clary; he was the star child in their father Valentine's eyes—the one he was most proud of. Not that Clary was someone who liked to gain the attention of others, but she always felt some type of remorse for the years lost between her and Valentine; especially the years where she could have been the best for him, when she felt as if she wasn't even half of the daughter he wanted.

She made her mother proud, that was for sure. But then again, Clary was a spitting image of her mother in almost every aspect and that was something that didn't go unnoticed. "Do you think you're up for a coffee run?" Jace asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"I was waiting for that," Clary stated before she began to pack up her sea foam green tote bag. She straightened out her shirt, brushing her slightly sweaty palms down the front of the vibrant green material, before she rose out of her seat.

"What do you mean?" Jace quirked his eyebrow and raised his hand to the tie around his neck. His nimble long fingers started to undo the tie, revealing the thick muscle point to his golden neck. Clary darted her eyes downwards; shifting her high heeled feet back and forth. She needed to get a hold of herself; the image of her boss was not something she needed to get lost in thought with.

"In movies you see the new assistants going out to get coffee for their bosses _all _the time," she offered with a sheepish grin; still maintaining to divert her gaze anywhere else but his face.

"Ah, I see. Well, I guess I'm no different than everyone else." He replied with a steady tone of voice; a deep—slightly sexual—tenor tone of voice, that is. "We'll have to go around to some of the different floors, my brother and sister will definitely want coffee as well. Then, when we come back, I'll have you check over some male model applications for next months spread." Jace laughed to himself, obviously cluing into a joke Clary had no idea about. She liked his laugh—it was throaty and loud, confident if you may. "I would hand in my own application, but I don't quite fit up to the esteem of those models—"

"Why? You're _hot_," Clary blurted out, matter-of-factly. A second after the words had slipped from her lips, her emerald eyes grew wide and she felt all the resistance within her fade away, so much so that a mere moment later she was staring at the impassively cheeky gaze of her boss.

"I was kidding Copper. I do know I'm hot. Stunning even,"

"I was just kidding," she tried to brush it off. Her face was becoming strangely heated; the fair skin on her cheeks was blossoming with a bright red hue.

"Oh were you now?" Jace teased, with that—now sort of familiar—smirk twisting the left side of his mouth up impishly. He tugged even more on his tie, and loosened it from it's knot, then unwrapped it from his neck and pulled one of his desk drawers open to place it inside.

"Is honesty key here?" Clary asked.

"Of course it is,"

"Well then, yes I was absolutely kidding." She smiled brightly and crossed her thin arms over her chest. "And way to feign indifference. I pegged you to be at least a little bit modest."

"I don't have a modest bone in my body Ms. Fairchild. Now come on, I'll introduce you to a couple of people you'll be in contact with fairly often." He held his hand out to the side, gesturing towards the elevator doors at the front of his office. Clary made her way over to the doors, as Jace followed her; grabbing his phone and another electrical device from a separate drawer in his desk. He came up behind her; she could feel the heat of his body washing over her, and if she stepped back a bit she might be able to feel the outline of his tall muscular body. _Get a grip Fairchild, _she told herself silently.

Jace raised his arm past her shoulder and pressed the down button on the light grey pad next to the elevator doors. For a fleeting moment she felt the inside of his left shoulder brush against her back and it was as if all her nerve endings were set on wildfire and her spine tingled involuntarily. The doors opened a moment later and they both stepped inside. He reached his long slender fingers out to press the floor number sixty-three and with a ding, they were off to their destination.

"Here, I forgot to give this to you earlier," Jace held out his hand and in his palm was the other electrical device that he had taken out of his desk. It was a pager, Clary could see now, and she internally sighed at the implication that it brought with it. "You'll need to keep this on you at all times."

"You won't be paging me at all hours of the night, right?" She chuckled and gazed up into his bemused liquid gold eyes. The slight smile on her face dropped and she pursed her lips tightly together.

"Look, this job does come with a lot of... Baggage would you say? Not that I'm that difficult to handle. I'll just need you sometimes to run over to the office and pick up some things for me. Simple things like that. But then there are other circumstances which we will get into a little bit later on..." He trailed off as the elevator came to a stop. He placed the palm of his hand on the small of Clary's back and ushered her out into another wide set all white room. There were doors and hallways leading off into different directions on all three walls; in the middle of the space was a large rounded desk with a woman sitting behind it.

She was gorgeous, with long straight black hair that fell across her breasts and down her torso. Her lips were obscenely red and her eyes were lined with thick black swatches of eyeliner. It took a moment for Clary to realize that this was Isabelle Lightwood, one of the most sought after models in the business.

"Izzy, where's Magnus? And why are you behind that desk?" Jace let his hand drop from Clary's back and walked towards Isabelle with long strides.

"Where do you think he is?" She asked, flicking her hair back over her shoulder to lean on the top of the desk. Her dark eyes had a devious gleam to them and her lush lips turned up into a sly smile. "I'll answer that for you. He's probably—no _definitely_—off with Alec. You know how those two are."

"Yes I do know. But I do expect more from them when they are at work." Jace sighed and shook his head; letting a few blonde curls sweep across his forehead. Clary stepped forward a little, her nude high heeled pumps scuffed on the flooring. "Oh, Izzy, this is Clarissa, my new assistant. Clarissa, this is, well, Isabelle Lightwood—"

"His sister for all intents and purposes." She smiled and weaved her way around the desk to stand in front of Clary. She was much taller than Clary was—even though Clary was wearing high heels and Isabelle was wearing flats—making her feel as if possibly everyone in the building would consider her the dwarf. Isabelle held out her polished hand to Clary, and they greeted each other lightly. "I hope my brother isn't being too much of a dick to you on your first day."

Jace faked indifference and raised his hand over his chest, as if she sent him a strong blow. "I've been good to you so far, haven't I?" He glanced down at Clary with questioning eyes.

"Of course, Jace." She rolled her eyes and tucked a loose curl behind her left ear.

"You guys are already passed formalities? Wow, this little one is working you over quite quickly Jace." Isabelle nudged him in his side and Jace shot her a brief strained glare. Clary could feel heat rise up her cheeks and engulf her face feverishly; her pale skin gave away quite possibly every emotion that she had. And right now she was completely and utterly flustered by what Isabelle had said. If Isabelle was his sister—in which Clary was still wondering how that worked—didn't she know about Jace's relationship that he was supposedly entirely invested in?

"Hey Jace," Clary heard a familiar voice call from the right side of the wide open space and Alec—the guy she had met before that was Magnus' fiance—appeared around the corner. His cheeks looked flustered and his hair was absolutely discheveled beyond belief. What Isabelle had hinted to before, as to where Magnus and likewise Alec was off to, was definitely confirmed to all of them and otherwise blatantly obvious.

"You're lucky you're my brother, or else I'd fire you so fast for having sex when you're supposed to be working." Jace said sternly, but his voice wasn't filled with opium. Alec paled, if that was even possible given the already pale complexion of his skin, and he gulped loudly.

"Jace we were—"

"No, no. I don't want to hear about your sexcapades right now. Or ever." Jace shook his head in mock horror. Isabelle let out a loud high laugh, which was wonderful. "Alec, this is Clarissa by the way,"

"We've already met. I didn't know you were working for my brother." Alec leaned against the wall closest to the entrance hallway he had just emerged from. "If you would have mentioned that, I would have told you to leave this building and never come back."

"Oh, ouch. Why does everyone doubt the fact that I am a _nice_ boss?"

"It's not that you're a horrible boss Jace," Isabelle sighed and picked at her manicured nails. "It's that you've went through so many assistants over the past years and most, if not all, of them fell for you, and you found it uncomfortable to continue working with them."

"Yes, but she's not like that," Jace turned his head to regard Clary, giving her a sweeping glance from head to toe—making her feel as if she were being placed underneath a microscope. "Right Copp—Clarissa?" He caught himself on his nickname for her. For a second Clary froze, not entirely sure if that was true or not. She hoped that it was true, but she couldn't be sure about what the future may hold.

She cleared her throat, rather loudly, and nodded her head. "Yeah, I'm not one to fall for guys who think they're just _so_ pretty." She specified and delighted in the fact that it earned her a loud laugh from Isabelle and Alec.

"I like this one," Isabelle tilted her head to the side, letting most of her hair fall across her left shoulder. "Don't screw it up Jace."

"Why are you here anyways?" Alec asked, easing himself away from the wall.

"We came down for a coffee run. I take it you'll want your coffee just black?" Alec nodded his head in compliance. "What about Magnus?"

"Chocolate Mocha latte,"

"I'll just have a soy bean latte," Isabelle interjected. "I have a photo shoot to do in about an hour, so make it quick please?" Jace rolled his eyes. "Hey, don't you roll your eyes at me. It is _your_ magazine that I am working for this week,"

"Whatever Izzy," he took a short step towards her and clasped his hand behind her neck; then proceeded to bend his head down and kiss her on the top of her head. "And you," he turned and pointed to Alec. "No more having sex in my work building. Leave that for home." He sighed and walked over to Clary, placing his hand once again on the small of her back. Clary watched as Isabelle shot Alec a quick questioning look, with her eyebrow raised high. But Jace didn't seem to catch the glance between his two siblings. "Now we can go get that coffee. And then once we're back you can start your real job."

* * *

**A/N: **I am so awful to you guys for making you wait _so _long. I've just been so caught up with different writing projects, that this one got put on the back burner for awhile. I promise that I will put more effort into updating this on a proper schedule—once every two weeks at the most? I hope you liked this chapter! The first few chapters are really about introductions for me, before I get into the drama and revelations and things like that. So yeah, drop me a comment and tell me what you thought about it!

Review pretty please?

**Amber,**


	3. Chapter 3

**I hope you enjoy it! (No copyright intended, all characters belong to Cassandra Clare)**

**PILLARS OF SAND, CHAPTER THREE**

_"What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms . . .  
__or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human,  
and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy."  
- George R.R. Martain, A Game of Thrones  
_

* * *

"Jace?" Clary asked quietly, her voice breaking the—somewhat—comfortable silence of the office. The space was bathed in a muted light from the small wall sconces, otherwise the sheer light of the moon, peaking through the scattered clouds provided the rest of the light. The day had been busy, but not to the point that it was unmanageable. After the coffee run Jace had accompanied her on they came back to the office to do the real work. Different forms and spreads needed to be faxed and approved, a handful of model profiles were looked over for the next Tommy Hilfiger spread as well arrangements were made for when those chosen could come into the building for a final drafting. Clary was slightly exhausted by the end of the day, having to ride the elevators and navigate the different halls of the building in search for certain things and people Jace needed.

"Mhmm?" He hummed back to her in question, without breaking his concentration on the heaps of documents he had to sign off on. Clary was quickly becoming accustomed to the fact that Jace was definitely a workaholic, barely taking any breaks during the day, besides escorting Clary to the little coffee shop just around the corner and down a couple of blocks—in which that was a small task to make. She respected him for the work he did, and mentally thanked her sheer luck on getting a boss that was sure to help her get to the top.

"Well... You never specified when my work day would be over. Can I go home now or...?" She said a bit hesitantly, not wanting to come off as unprofessional and flighty; but considering the fact that it was eleven o'clock in the evening and most, if not all, of the other workers in the building had gone home, Clary wondered why she was kept back so long. Possibly, it would have been smart, in the beginning, to ask what time she 'Clocked out' in regard to the job. The mere thought that she had spent eleven hours there, didn't sit too well with her.

Jace finally broke his concentration from his work splayed out across his desk and shot his gaze up and forward to the clock hanging over top of the elevator. "Oh god. I'm sorry Clarissa. You should have left three hours ago." He ran one of his large slender fingered hands throughout his curls; tossing them on top of his head to give him that 'just had sex' look. Clary, going against everything that embodied herself, _giggled, _nervously as she started to pack up her stuff. "I guess I got a bit carried away," he stuck his thumb out to the side, gesturing to the pile of paper.

"S'all right," Clary slurred, hoisting her bag higher up on her shoulder. She made her way over to the elevator, absolutely hating the click of her high-heeled pumps against the lacquer flooring. She pressed the down button and waited for the elevator to arrive. Glancing over to Jace, Clary found him to be studiously staring at her body, somehow taking it in slowly, before his golden eyes snapped to her emerald ones upon knowing that she was watching him. He cleared his throat, raising his fist to his lips and then offered her a simple: "See you tomorrow afternoon, Clarissa."

The bell of the elevator signified its arrival. Clary stepped into the waiting space, hit ground level and then turned to face Jace, who was back to running a ball point pen over snow-white sheets of paper. "Oh and Jace?" She called out just as the doors began to close; he looked up for a fraction of a second. "It's Clary." And with that the metal doors closed.

* * *

The door finally gave way to Clary's keys, letting her into her safe haven. She could faintly hear the low beat of Nirvana flooding the front hallway of the apartment. She locked the door and leaned against it for a short minute; taking the subway home at this time of night wasn't an easy feat to carry out, but luckily the guy with roaming eyes didn't let on too long. She dropped her purse next to the door and slipped out of her high heels, sighing, flexing her toes greedily.

Simon came around the corner that led to the kitchen, into the hallway, upon hearing her entry—stumbling as he went. His glasses laid skewed on the bridge of his nose, and his gamer t-shirt was splattered with a dark red-brown substance. Clary quirked her eyebrow and raised her index finger, pointing at the mess he had made on his shirt.

He looked down and grabbed the hem, stretching it out to see the entirety of it all. "Oh this?" Simon laughed. "Well it was supposed to be dinner..." He trailed off and raked Clary up and down with his chocolate-brown eyes. "Why are you home so late anyways?"

"Ja—Mr. Herondale lost track of time." She shrugged her thin shoulders up, letting a few curls fall across her chest. Simon watched her for a moment, his brown eyes taking her in with question lacing his irises. She began to take off her blazer, tossing it haphazardly through the archway that led into their cozy living room—the cold air of the house nipped at her now exposed skin—before making her way over to Simon. He held his hands up, stopping her before she could move any further.

"Wait—" he hurriedly said as she made to move past him again. "You really don't want to go in there right now." Clary rolled her eyes at him, huffing under her breath before turning back around to make her way towards the living room instead. Once there, she threw herself down onto their bright orange plush couch, kicking her feet up and onto the solid wooden coffee table, with more than enough nicks etched into the top.

"I'm not going to be the one to clean, any of whatever you did in there, up." Clary called out to him as she began to hear pots—she assumed—and pans being banged together and thrown into the sink. After a few minutes, Simon came into the living room and sat down across from Clary in a cream floral covered arm-chair next to the skinny bookcase that reached their ceiling.

"I'll order whatever you want. Pizza? Chinese? Tacos?" He questioned earnestly.

"Where the hell would we get tacos from at this time of night?" Clary asked incredulously, throwing her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. She heard Simon give her a low breathy laugh, at the tone of her voice.

"Ham and Pineapple?"

"Of course." She cracked her left eye open and smiled at Simon. For a minute or so she watched as he ordered their dinner, making short conversation with the local part-time pizza girl, Maia. And, if Clary had to bet who would show up at their door to deliver, she would guess correctly every time that it would be Maia. She seemed to have a... Thing, for Simon. They were into the same books, the same movies, the same games, but then again Simon and Clary shared all of those same aspects.

"So, tell me how your first day went." Simon returned the phone to its resting place and leaned forward onto his knees; his elbows digging into the fabric of his jeans.

"When I got there this man grabbed by butt," Clary shook her head and laughed lightly. "I got so mad, and it turns out that he was my boss."

"Clary, I don't know if you've realized this or not, but that's sexual harassment right there." Simon arched his eyebrows; his glasses falling a bit down to the button of his nose.

"No, no wait. I wasn't done explaining. He said it was an accident and now that I think about it, it most definitely was. I mean, there were so many people in the lobby and besides he's in a relationship..."

"Did anything else happen today that didn't involve your boss?"

"I met _Magnus Bane,_" Clary marveled to Simon and mostly to herself. Simon quirked his left eyebrow giving her a forlorn look of confusion. "You know, Magnus Bane, fashion designer for the stars? Coordinator for the fall New York fashion week?" She sat up a bit and crossed her legs on top of the couch, sitting campfire style.

"Clary, I'm a dude, and dude's do not follow your fashion show things." She rolled her eyes again, and was quickly thinking that this could become a terrible habit of hers fairly soon. Not that she never used to roll her eyes before... It was simply the fact that today she seemed to be breaking personal records.

"Whatever," Clary waved him off. "Anyways, I met Magnus and he was a bit intimidating, but just as charming as I could've imagined." She zoned out for a second, still dumbfounded that she had met one of the many people she looked up to in the world of fashion and magazines. And to think that he was one of the permanent residences of the Herondale Magazine building was outstanding as well. Essentially she might be able to work with him during her days there, giving Clary more reason to look forward to her job. "Oh! I also met his fiancé Alec Lightwood—"

"The sports columnist?" Simon asked in surprise, his ears perking up. Mildly, Clary scowled at him for his seemingly lack of attention before hand compared to now when she mentioned someone involving sports. "I didn't know he's engaged, let alone to a guy."

"Yeah, I think he mentioned that they were getting married sometime in the spring... I could be wrong." She shrugged her shoulders up. "I didn't know Alec was a sports columnist though."

"He doesn't work for the magazine you're at, he works for Ford and ESPN." Simon stood up, out of his seat, and walked through the doorway leading into the hall. A moment later he returned with a magazine that was folded up beyond belief and set it down on their wood coffee table right in front of her. "See right there," he pointed to one of the, basically torn up, corners on the back of the magazine, where a list of names and their corresponding articles were listed. "Alexander Lightwood," he read out, despite the fact that Clary could clearly do that herself.

"Huh, I'll have to ask him about this tomorrow." Clary drew her fingers throughout her fiery curls. "Do you know who Isabelle Lightwood is then?" She quirked her eyebrows high on her forehead when she saw a scattered subtle blush work its way across his cheekbones; faintly licking the skin with color there.

"Uh... No. Who... Is she?" He stuttered out briefly and wiped the palms of his—now—clammy hands on the front of his jeans. He avoided Clary's gaze from behind his glasses, working with the gleam of the table lamps in the living room to evade her even further.

"Don't pretend like you don't know that she is like, a supermodel. Tell me, what did you do..." Simon was the lead guitarist and vocal singer in a grunge band that decided to change their name every other week, on account of the fact that they couldn't fully agree on one single name. If she could bet on something, it would be the fact that him being in a grunge band, that played at numerous underground bars, had something to do with Isabelle.

"She, well, I kind of, uhm—" the doorbell rang, cutting Simon off mid-sentence. He let out a deep sigh of air and Clary could see the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "We will continue this after dinner," he walked, again, over to the doorway leading out into the hallway, but before he disappeared behind the pale wood frame he turned back to Clary. "Or yenno, never." And with that he left to go to the front door.

Clary could hear the low sound of voices—presumably Maia talking to Simon for as long as he would let her—out in the hall. Shutting her eyes and leaning against the back of the couch, Clary found a piece of the day where she felt truly relaxed. That was until she heard a muffled buzz coming from the front door. "Uh, Clary?" Simon called to her and in that moment she realized exactly what that sound signified.

She shot out of her seat and came to find Simon holding a large pizza box in one hand and in the other her purse. Maia was leaning against the front door, frame, her wild curly hair pulled back into a messy bun on top of her head. "Give it," Clary outstretched her hands to Simon and snatched her purse from his giving hand quickly. She rifled through some of her contents, when finally she found the pager Jace had given her earlier in the day. "How the hell do you work this thing?" She hissed. Considering there were several different buttons on the top of the pager, and she had, had no formal introduction as to what each one of them meant, she had no idea what she was doing.

"Here let me do it," Maia took the pager out of Clary's hands and pressed on the button directly in the middle.

_"Clarissa?" _A very manly, tenor voice sounded from the small black machine.

"No, actually it's Maia." Maia snickered as Clary shot her a feral glance. Clary lunged for the pager in the next second and then quickly ran into her bedroom, stopping and shuddering in horror only for a moment as she passed the kitchen and took in a glimpse of the mess Simon had left in there.

_"Can I talk to Ms. Fairchild?" _

"Hi, yeah, It's me now. Sorry about that." She panted slightly and then slammed her bedroom door shut. "What is it that you need?"

_"I sort of require you back at the office, just for an hour. If that is fine with you." _He sounded hesitant of his request and Clary couldn't blame him. This would put her way beyond the acceptable hours of work for any common person. She sighed, holding the pager away from herself so that Jace wouldn't catch it.

"Sure thing Jace. Just give me at least twenty minutes to get there." She walked over to her open closet on the left side of her room and rifled through a stack of sweaters she had, hung up.

_"I'll see you in a few Clarissa." _

"Yeah, uhm, Jace?"

_"Yes?"_

"How do you... Turn the pager off?" Clary timidly asked, feeling mortifying stupid at the present moment in time. She swore she could hear a faint low chuckle from his end, but she wasn't all too sure; it could have possibly been from Maia and Simon, who were most likely still standing at the front door.

_"There's a dark blue button on the side, just click it and I'm gone."_

"Okay, thank you. I'll see you in a few. Is there anything you needed me to pick up for you on my way over?"

_"No. Unless you know of a coffee-house that is open at this time at night." _She heard a click and wondered if he had hung up on her. After a moment or two she obtained no reply from him and decided that he was inevitably gone. With that she slipped a large grey pull over on her frame, after taking off her green shirt. She made sure to grab her tennis shoes, not wanting to go back into the office wearing high heels again. She wondered for a moment if Jace might think her attire was unprofessional, but shook off the thought—not entirely caring about his preferences for comfort, verses her own.

She walked out of her bedroom and into the living room, meaning to tell Simon that she was leaving; surprisingly though, Simon was sitting on their couch with Maia pressed up against him, kissing him in a way that Clary longed for. Not, that she wanted to be the one kissing Simon, but it had been a long time since she had been in any form of a physical relationship.

After seeing how infatuated they seemed to be with one another, in the moment, she decided to just not tell him she was leaving, therefore not interrupting them, and send a message to his phone, when she got on the subway. Slipping out of the door, after grabbing her purse, Clary made her way to the subway station and waited patiently on the platform underground. _This was going to be a long night._

* * *

**A/N: **I Know, I'm a terrible person who is awful at keeping certain deadlines in order. Sorry for the wait, I got caught up in a bunch of other things, went on vacation and didn't have a laptop to write on for a good week or so. I know, excuses excuses! Haha, I hope that I won't have to have any more in the future. This was a filler chapter in some sense? I like to start stories really getting to know the dynamic of things so that you can kind of imagine what others may be up to when I'm filling you in on another character for the chapter. I don't rush into things! If you've read Castles Made of Sand, you will definitely know that it will take some time for Jace and Clary to get used to one another. But they're off to a good start. Let's just hope Clary doesn't fall for her boss and get fired—possibly? I am excited about this story and I hope you are too! I'm, again, sorry for the late updates though. I will try harder to update so much faster.

Your reviews mean the world to me, so thank you kindly. Review?

**Amber,**


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